The MacTaggart Brothers Trilogy

by Anna Durand

  He blinked once, slowly, wetting his lips. Then, at last, his crystalline eyes focused on my face.

  "What does it mean?" I asked. "The bum-oot-the-whatever thing."

  "Your bum's oot the windae." He draped his arm over his six-pack abs. "It's an old Scottish saying. Means you're talking nonsense, which you were at the time."

  "Not if you had been Cliff. He would've known why I was furious." I inched my fingers across the sand until they bumped his. I burned to touch him everywhere, lick him everywhere. "Half of what you say sounds like a foreign language."

  "You should visit Scotland. It'll be an adventure for you."

  "Maybe I will someday." When I get paroled. I tucked my fingers under my palm. "But I'd have to figure out what you're saying first. I wouldn't want to visit a foreign country without learning at least a bit of the language."

  "I can teach ye." His hand enveloped mine.

  "You're a one-man immersion program already. Feel like I need a passport just to have a whisky with you."

  "No need. My borders are completely open to you." He slung an arm around my waist, hauling me to him. My nipples, already rigid, chafed against his chest through my T-shirt and bra. He fanned his fingers out over the small of my back. "Come on over and map me out."

  The idea of mapping out his body, it made me wish for more time. Four weeks would fly by too fast. Don't get attached, remember? Even if I'd had all the time in the world, I couldn't trust this thing between us, whatever it was. Hot guys always turned into hot messes. I knew this, and yet I'd agreed to a month-long fling with a hot guy who clearly had secrets.

  Well, I never promised I wouldn't ask questions. He said we could converse as long as things didn't get "too personal." Time to test the boundaries. I nestled against him with a wriggle of my hips. "So, tell me, why don't you do relationships?"

  He sprang to a sitting position, which dumped me on my back. While I heaved myself off the blanket, he flipped open the picnic basket's lid. "Personal questions are off limits."

  Wife alert. "When did your last relationship end?"

  Lachlan tossed me a plastic-wrapped sandwich and threw me an amused look. "Could we enjoy this bonnie day without an inquisition?"

  "Maybe." I unwrapped my sandwich — turkey and Havarti cheese on whole wheat, with lettuce and avocado. A chill trickled through me. I snapped bolt upright and waved the sandwich at him. "This is my favorite. Are you sure you're not stalking me? Ferreting out all my secrets in order to seduce me into being your sex slave?"

  He grinned. "Caught me. I dug through your bins to find the remnants of your food and decipher what your favorites are." He leaned toward me and gave a low, evil cackle. "And I sniffed your underwear."

  "A woman's underwear does not smell good, trust me."

  "Bet yours would." He nuzzled my cheek. "I got my information from Gil. He said you've had a piece at their house lots of times."

  From my research, I knew the term piece meant sandwich or snack. "Why would Gil tell you what kind of food I like?"

  "Playing matchmaker, I gather."

  He bit off a huge chunk of his sandwich. Vinaigrette dressing dribbled down his chin, and I resisted the impulse to bend over to lick it off. "You've, uh, got something on your chin."

  He snatched up a napkin and wiped off the dressing, then returned to eating. Even the way he chewed was sexy. So determined, precise, and yet passionate. Would he apply the same intensity to making love to me? I cringed and ripped off a mouthful of my sandwich. Making love? This was sex, pure and simple. No strings, no complications, no baggage, no hot mess. As if that were possible.

  Lachlan ran a finger down my arm. "Care to tell me what's got you frowning again?"

  "Not particularly." I reached into the picnic basket to pluck a grape from a bunch cuddled inside a napkin. "Comes under the heading of personal, comma, off limits."

  With a bitter smile, he severed our eye contact. "Understood."

  His expression went stony. I almost thought he looked… disappointed. These were his stupid rules. I bit back a sarcastic response and munched my grape.

  Lachlan swiveled his gaze out to the lake where gentle swells lapped onto the shore. A seagull swooped low overhead, its cry sharp and high. Lachlan's cheerful expression turned unreadable, distant. I had the weirdest urge to pull him into my arms and soothe him with wordless sounds, rocking him until his somber mood passed. Baggage, moron. Steer clear.

  After scarfing down half my sandwich, I could stand the silence no longer. I grabbed a water bottle from the basket and gulped some of its contents. My fingers coiled around the cool bottle, I circled my thumb over its ridged surface, smoothing out droplets of condensation. A single drop rolled over my thumb. "Scotland always looks beautiful in the movies."

  "It is beautiful." He finished off his sandwich in two swift bites. "Can't believe you've never been to Scotland."

  "Never been outside the contiguous United States."

  "What a shame." He picked a grape and held it near my lips. I parted them so he could set the grape on my tongue, then I sealed my mouth around the fruit. My lips ensnared the tip of his finger by accident. For a long moment, we hung suspended in a bubble of our own making, our gazes burning into one another. An urge overtook me and, helpless to resist, I suckled his finger to savor his skin — salty, flavored with the sweet and tangy nuances of his sandwich. When I released his finger, he skated it around the rim of my mouth. "You'd love Scotland. It's a land of passionate, fiercely independent men and women. A lass like you would fit right in."

  I nabbed a napkin to wipe food remnants from my face, anything to distract me from the weight that had settled in my chest. Heartburn, probably. I forced a polite smile. "Maybe someday I will visit Scotland."

  Casey yanked on the leash, jerking Lachlan forward. He grunted and pulled the leash's handle out from under his butt to give it a sharp tug. Casey trotted back to us, then lay down between me and Lachlan. I tore off a piece of my sandwich and tossed it to Casey. He caught it with a snap of his jaws.

  Lachlan dragged his fingers through the sand. "Where did you grow up?"

  "Isn't that off limits?"

  "Told you about my background."

  "So you did." It was only fair, I supposed. "I was born in Linwood, a small town just outside of Kansas City — on the Kansas side, not Missouri. We were average, middle-class people. Me, the only child, with two loving parents. We moved to Chicago when I was fourteen." I started to take another bite, then realized I was full. Eating as a distraction. A sure way to get fat. Will a man like Lachlan want you when you're tubby? I set down the sandwich. "I'm pretty boring, really. Girl accountant, obsessed with facts and figures, friendless, loved by my parents and my dog."

  "You have friends. Gil and Jayne, for certain."

  "Yeah, but no one else. I'm the invisible woman."

  Lachlan paused with a grape near his lips, his gaze intent on me. "I'm sure someone else loves you. A beautiful woman such as yourself must have a horde of admirers."

  Are you one of them? I didn't ask, for fear of the answer. "Nope. No adoring admirers. I'm as boring as most of my exes."

  "You have had exciting lovers then."

  "Not lovers. Boyfriends."

  The grape flew into his mouth, as if by its own volition, and I couldn't blame the little fruit for longing to get inside Lachlan MacTaggart. I wanted to crawl in his brain, though, to dig up the reason he eschewed connections. Curiosity. Nothing more.

  Finished devouring the hapless grape, he asked, "What's the difference? If you sleep with them, they're your lovers."

  "The term implies an arrangement like ours — sex without commitment or attachments. I cared for my boyfriends." I grimaced. "Even the gorgeous ones."

  His forehead wrinkled as his brows came close to merging. "Why even them?"

  I clamped my hands on my knees. "Hot guys always turn out to be hot messes. They've got cargo planes full of their
baggage." I scratched the back of my neck, bowing my head. "And then there are the hot guys who use women for their own ends."

  Lachlan froze, sandwich midway to his mouth.

  I realized with a start what I'd said and what it must've sounded like to him. My throat constricted, but I waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't mean you. Point is, hot guys are dangerous."

  "Then I pray you don't think I'm hot."

  He was blazing. The hottest of them all. "You're… good-looking and sexy."

  "Thank heavens for that." The sparkle in his eyes seemed to fade with his smile. "Who used you for his own ends? Was it the coward who assaulted you?"

  "Presley didn't assault me."

  Lachlan's jaw tightened, his lips a sharp line. "He was forcing his way into your home."

  I hugged myself, rocking in place. Presley's voice haunted my dreams and his betrayal ruined my life. I sucked in a ragged breath.

  "What did the bastard do to you?"

  "Nothing. You chased him away." And last night I'd dreamed about the incident, except in my dream Lachlan was dressed in his kilt and nothing else, and he wielded a big sword. My Highland knight.

  Lachlan grumbled. "You know full well what I was asking."

  I straightened and tried for an authoritative tone. "Off limits."

  We stared at each other for a long moment. My heart stuttered, the breath was locked in my lungs. Lachlan picked at a stray blade of grass. "Sorry, I forgot my own rules for a spell."

  My shoulders flagged, my heart sinking. I think I wanted him to press me for more information. Part of me needed to tell someone, but Lachlan couldn't be my confidante. "It's okay."

  He sprang to his feet and offered me his hand. "How about a walk?"

  Casey sprang up, all four feet off the ground, and barked his approval of the idea. Lachlan scratched behind Casey's ears, earning a sloppy kiss on his chin.

  "Sure," I said. "A walk sounds nice."

  I slipped my hand into Lachlan's and twined our fingers. With Casey by his side, Lachlan shepherded me away from the sheltering trees to the open beach at the edge of the lapping waves. I spied the skyscrapers of downtown Chicago, with the Sears Tower looming over the rest, but then we turned left away from the skyline. Hand in hand we strolled, chatting about nothing in particular, careful to avoid personal subjects like Presley Cichon or Lachlan's reasons for giving up on relationships. His hand felt right in mine, comforting, imbuing me with a sense of safety. At the same time, his touch sent low-voltage currents of desire through me. I stopped worrying about the passions he excited and permitted myself to enjoy all the sensations he aroused.

  But of course, I couldn't help myself. I lifted our joined hands. "Isn't this against the rules?"

  "No."

  "That's it? No?"

  Lachlan veered us off the beach, under a copse of trees, shaded from the sun. He spun me toward him and dragged my body into his.

  Strong arms pinned me there. My heart raced. My every feathery hair awakened to his presence, stirring as if a breeze whispered over my skin. Lachlan bent his head to mine.

  The kiss began softly, delicately, but intensified with each brush of his lips, until he plundered my mouth with fierce strokes of his tongue. He had me crazed, pushed beyond the bounds of reason, and I didn't care. He tasted of grapes and sweet Havarti cheese and… Oh God, so many things. His lips held the promise of erotic delights to come, arousing my entire body from the inside out.

  His erection swelled inside his shorts, the hard length wedged between us. I ground my hips against him, rewarded by his groan, and rubbed my body into his swollen shaft. He plunged inside my mouth with even more ardor, his tongue more demanding, as his hands clutched at my ass. When he peeled his lips from mine, we both struggled for breath.

  One corner of his open mouth turned up in a wry half smile. "It's not against the rules. It's preparation."

  I didn't have to ask for what.

  We ambled back onto the beach, headed toward our blanket and picnic basket. The sun glared in my eyes and I threw a hand up to shield them. The daystar had sunk low on the horizon, heralding the oncoming night. Where had the afternoon gone?

  "It's time to go home," he said, his lips vibrating against my ear. "I've got a surprise for you, and then the real seduction begins." He curled his tongue around my lobe. "If you're ready for it."

  Take a risk, be wild. I eased a hand down his firm belly to stroke his shaft through his shorts. So big. So hard. My thumb flicked over his tip and his shaft throbbed in my palm, setting off a shockwave that shuddered through him. I made him shake with desire. The knowledge coursed a hot shiver of my own through me. "I want you tonight, Lachlan."

  A breath gusted out of him, his head bowed. "Thank the stars."

  Sweat dampened my palms, a squadron of butterflies took flight in my stomach, and my ears rang. Breathe, idiot. I sucked in a lungful of steamy summer air, spiced with a hint of Lachlan's natural scent. I swayed a little, intoxicated as never before. I was about to dive headfirst into a deep pool in the pitch dark, not knowing if any water would break my fall. And I didn't give a damn.

  Lachlan guided me down the path past a stranger's house, toward home and the impending fulfillment of my Highlander fantasy. He was more than a wet dream come to life, though, and he'd touched something more profound than my libido. Presley wooed me with honeyed words and golden promises, but Lachlan assured me he offered nothing but sex. This time, I'd lock my heart inside an impenetrable vault.

  Sure, and pigs flew on the backs of winged unicorns.

  Chapter Eleven

  I set my fork on my empty plate and leaned back in my chair. A breathy moan escaped me as my eyes drifted half closed. The smoky, hearty flavor of the T-bone steak lingered on my tongue, tinged with the fruity undertones of the red wine I'd sipped between bites of meat. Gil's kitchen was so quiet I could hear my breaths hissing and the clock above the stove ticking.

  Lachlan cleared his throat. His chair creaked.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I looked across the dining room table at him. He shifted in his seat again, and the wooden chair creaked again. His lips were tight, his shoulders bunched. His royal blue shirt stretched snug over his torso while the three unhooked buttons at the top exposed a tantalizing wedge of flesh. I slid my tongue over my lips to lick away the remnants of steak sauce. Lachlan, his attention riveted to my mouth, mimicked the movement of my tongue with his own, darting it out to moisten his lips.

  I sat forward, pushing my plate away, and folded my arms on the tabletop. The polished wood cooled my arms, except for the circle of warmth where my plate had rested.

  My personal chef, aka my Highland hottie, glanced at my breasts. The low-cut blouse I wore exposed their inner slopes, but my folded arms pushed them up, mounding them higher. Lachlan's mouth worked as if he were imagining suckling my nipples. My skin tightened. I'd promised him tonight we'd seal the deal.

  He fidgeted, coughing, and swung his gaze up to mine.

  I stifled a smile. "Getting sciatica? These wooden chairs do a number on my butt, for sure. Jayne wanted to put some cushions on the seats, but Gil thought it was too girlie."

  Lachlan's eyes narrowed. "Could we not talk about Gil and Jayne tonight."

  Though he phrased it as a question, his tone transformed it into a command. The set of his jaw and the intensity of his stare set the air between us to sizzling. Now I was wriggling in my chair, besieged by a throbbing between my thighs. "Is there dessert?"

  "Oh, aye." He rose, granting me an eye-level view of his raging erection. It strained against his low-slung jeans. As he sauntered around the table to me, the motion of his hips accentuated the bulge in his crotch. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. He held out a hand to me. "Stand."

  "Bossy much?"

  He grasped my hand and tugged. "Up. Now."

  I swallowed. Damn, but his alpha male act was getting to me. You don't like pushy guys, remember? Of course
I didn't. I pulled my hand free. "Ask nicely and maybe I'll do it."

  Lachlan lunged down, cinched his arms around my waist, and hoisted me off the chair. My feet dangled several inches above the floor. Face to face with his neck, I struggled for words. His rigid cock pressed into my groin. I stopped breathing. My skin grew hot and hypersensitive, the feel of his silky shirt against my bare skin making my nipples go stiff. One of his hands dropped down to clutch my ass. My heart pounded so fast I couldn't catch my breath. I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. "Dinner was amazing, had no idea you could cook."

  Those devious fingers of his kneaded my buttock, slow and deep, plunging into my flesh then withdrawing, over and over.

  "I love steak," I said, my idiotic statement punctuated by a squeak. His finger had dipped between my buttocks for the briefest second, and even through my clothes, the sensation tormented me.

  Lachlan slid me down his body, inch by glorious inch, until my feet met the floor. My right hand wound up squished between our bodies, smack over his erection. Holy shit, it was hard as granite. A dizzying exhilaration swept through me, and I ran one finger up his shaft to the head. This would be inside me. Tonight. It's happening.

  I fumbled with the button on his jeans.

  "Uh-uh." He captured my hands, pinning them behind me. "Not yet."

  "Why not?" I craned my neck to see his face.

  "Patience," he grated through his teeth.

  The way he was holding my hands, I could feel his heartbeat in his wrists, pulsating against my skin, racing almost as fast as mine. "I suck at patience."

  He released my hands and backed me up to the table. I gripped its edge. He took hold of my hips, boosting me up onto the table with my legs hanging off the edge. I slapped my palms on his chest, then glided them up and down, up and down, relishing his taut body contrasted with the sleekness of his shirt. I freed one button. My fingers seemed to move of their own volition, slipping beneath the fabric to sketch the outlines of his muscles.

  With a hissed intake of air, he dragged me into him, which forced my thighs apart. Wedged between them, he ground his shaft into my groin. "When ye lay yer wee hands on me, I cannae think."